


Noctem postquam vespernam

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [54]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Introspection, M/M, Master/Slave, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 00:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: Late at night after a long day in which Ven has met some very high-ranking people, and been given a lot to think about.





	Noctem postquam vespernam

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Vesperna at the Atrium Vestae](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17555291) by [Imperial_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperial_Dragon/pseuds/Imperial_Dragon). 



> There is some sex in this, but it's not described in graphic detail (it's barely two paragraphs); feel free to skip to the paragraph beginning _He found himself lying on his side_.

The journey home from the Atrium Vestae was made in an uncomfortable silence that the luxury of the car could not ease. Ven had never dared to dream that he might see the inside of one of these limousines, the car’s gleaming purple paint causing Rome’s habitual night-time traffic (delivery vans, rubbish trucks, recycling vehicles and everything in between) to stop and move aside as best it could while the car neither slowed nor dodged aside; everyone moved for the Emperor and his family, after all.

Master was as tense as Ven had ever seen him, and he himself was not altogether easy, although he’d been pulled to lean against his master, once he’d passed Master’s phone to him from the satchel he was carrying. Master wrapped one arm around him and began phoning people, making arrangements of some sort for tomorrow. Ven tuned him out, although not so much that he couldn’t jump in if asked a question directly. He couldn’t help replaying snatches of the evening’s conversation in his mind…

_"...you can’t deny that you like to change the expression on his face, can you…"_

_"...he has a look about him that Valentine shares…"_

_"...every time you relax you look like you're going to mouth off or not obey a command…"_

_"...my sweet Ven…"_

_"...You want to take him in hand and teach him his place…"_

_"...He’s a good boy, obedient, knows his place…"_

Although the car was moving faster than any taxa capra Ven had ridden in, he unconsciously followed the twists and turns it took, despite his turmoil of thoughts and emotions, and was ready when it finally drew up outside the house, pausing barely long enough for the car to come to a complete stop before he was out, holding the door for Master, as if trying to prove the truth of Master’s words earlier in his defence (Master, defending _him_ , a slave, to the _Emperor_! He didn’t think he would ever quite get his head around that.) 

_"...Ven is nothing like Valentine. He’s a good boy, obedient, knows his place."_

He had screwed up earlier, he knew he had and then everyone thought that he was like Valentine. Everyone except Master, so that was a sliver of hope, at least. Well, and then the Emperor had called him ‘such a sweet boy’.

But he _wasn’t_ like Valentine - interrupting the free, attracting their attention in the middle of their conversation, smiling at everyone, _scaring_ people. Ven had never seen a firearm, apart from those the lictors carried bundled in their fasces, when he saw them as they accompanied the magistrates or consuls to wherever they were going, or maybe if the Praetorians were holding some sort of parade or display (which was rare). He certainly had never been trusted with such a thing himself. Slaves couldn’t legally be armed, he thought - had always thought, though he supposed Imperial slaves might be permitted to - hadn’t the Emperor called Valentine a ‘bodyguard of last resort’ or something?

_"...And you both have a spark about you…"_

Valentine acted more like a free person than a slave, and Ven was a better slave than him, even if his own actual service was plain and rough and unpolished by comparison. He never answered back, never interrupted the conversation free people were having, never drew their attention (well, not intentionally, anyway). Not unless he was passing a message, and even then he knew enough to wait for them to notice him.

The house was quiet and dark; all the slaves had long gone to bed. Congrio popped his head out of the doorkeeper’s cubby - Petrus had obviously gone to bed - and retired just as quickly once Master flicked his fingers in dismissal. Willow was likewise dismissed, which left Ven trailing disconsolately after Master across the darkened atrium to Master’s room, where he abruptly turned the light on and then stopped in the middle of the room.

"You may prepare me for bed, and then you have ten minutes to make any necessary preparations or ablutions, after which you are to return here."

"Yes, Master," he replied, quietly, moving to lift Master’s pallium from him, draping it over a chair and then reaching to unbuckle his belt; he seemed to be in the sort of mood where he wasn’t going to offer to raise even a finger to help Ven. It would be easier to remove Master’s tunic, drape his night-tunic over him and then remove his footwear while he was sitting than to remove his footwear first.

Master was soon ready for bed and Ven could remove his indoor sandals from the shoe-bag he’d also been carrying, setting them by the bed in readiness for tomorrow before hurrying to obey the other orders he’d received, laying his own clothes on his cot in the corner before heading into the shower cubicle to clean himself out, a procedure he hated.

"On the bed," Master said, as Ven returned to the bedroom to find the main light off and the room illuminated by the golden glow from the bedside reading lamp.

He was positioned on hands and knees in the centre of the big bed, relaxing fractionally at the sound of the lube bottle’s pump action. The plastic plug he had replaced inside him after his evening enema was pulled out and a single finger breached him, feeling cold and slippery with lube. It was soon joined by a second, then a third - it was not enough preparation, could not be enough, even after the plug, as he felt the bed dip and the blunt head of Master’s cock nudging there. A hand placed flat between his shoulder blades pushed his head and shoulders down onto the bed, then his hips were grasped hard and he was pulled backwards onto Master’s prick, its full length sheathing itself inside him in one fast hard glide. The feeling of it reassured Ven that Master had lubed his prick and there would be no damage, even though it promised to be a hard fuck tonight.

Ven could not help the tears as Master fucked him, though he buried his face in the covers as it continued. Valentine was a bad slave yet he was in love with his master whereas Ven tried his level best to be the good slave his master wanted and was simply a fucktoy, nothing more than a warm body for his master to fuck and spend his seed in.

It wasn’t fair… but then, when was a slave’s life ever fair?

Master was fucking him hard now. His hands were bruisingly tight on Ven’s hips, simply holding him still, giving him no opportunity to move and get any stimulation on his own prick. He had no idea how long it had lasted by the time he felt Master come inside him, thick hot liquid flooding him in spurts. Ven was a teary, aching, sweating mess, lying limp on the bed simply because he didn’t want to risk his master’s anger - he hadn’t punished Ven yet for his earlier mistake, either.

Master draped himself over Ven’s back, breathing hard, and then his hands shifted, pulling him round onto his side, his bare back against Master’s clothed chest, Master’s softening dick still buried to its root in Ven’s arse. They lay like that for long enough that Ven thought they would end up going to sleep with his master's prick still inside him, but eventually Master shifted, pulling out, and lifting Ven's leg so he could access his hole and the slow leak of spent seed that was beginning to run out. It was pushed back in with a finger before a plug was pressed to that ring of muscle, just held there for a moment before being pushed slowly inside, making Ven feel the stretch as his body was forced to adjust to admit and accommodate it.

He found himself lying on his side, pulled in close to Master, with Master’s now quiescent prick tucked into the cleft of his bottom, the rumpled cotton of his master’s night-tunic warm against his back. Master’s arm was over him, holding him close, with his hand low enough that it took almost no effort for him to stroke the smooth skin of Ven’s cock with one curled finger, causing his breath to hitch slightly. He was trembling slightly with the necessity of holding still, not to thrust and seek more touch.

"Good boy, Ven." There was a final stroke and then nothing. The light was switched off and then Master’s hand slipped back up to Ven’s stomach, flattening against his skin there. "Go to sleep, pet."

The disobedience that followed wasn’t wilful or deliberate; it was simply that Ven couldn’t sleep, despite his master’s breathing deepening and slowing behind him.

He wasn’t perfect, he knew that, but he did his best. He had mixed feelings about Willow now; he felt somewhat betrayed to learn that his friend (well, they’d sort of been friends before Ven became the master’s concubīnus, despite that Ven had only been a house slave) had been the one to recommend him to the master - that last video Master had done with him had been one of the most uncomfortable.

His face flamed crimson in the darkness as he recalled the Emperor himself mentioning the videos… It was Valentine who’d investigated him, and Master’s treatment of him, but it sounded very much like they both watched the videos Master made. And the latest one… It had hurt, though he had no real idea how Master knew it looked worse than it felt - and the hurt hadn’t lasted long, but it was the most intense pain in a very sensitive area that Ven could think he’d experienced in some time.

And Willow had suggested him for it? Or had Master suggested him, and Willow hadn’t had much say in it? If it wasn’t Ven, it would be someone else, after all.

And he couldn’t deny that it had an effect on him physically, that pretty much whatever Master chose to do to him was arousing in some twisted way. And that obeisance Valentine had made, echoing Ven’s own mistake by prostrating himself as a pleasure slave (Ven had been introduced as a secretary, and they’d been in the House of the Vestals, too. His face grew hotter as he remembered that)... Valentine had been wearing such a short tunic and Ven hadn’t been able to suppress the thought that crossed his mind at the time. _Had_ his master succeeded in corrupting him, turning him into a cinaedus who’d open his legs for any attractive man? He wasn’t a pathicus, he was sure of it. But there had been _something_ appealing about Valentine… and then there had been the whole thing with the gun.

His thoughts were circling again, he couldn’t stop them. 

_Why_ was Valentine thought to be such a good slave? He supposed he was what his master wanted, but surely no master would ever permit such a thing to slide? He’d interrupted the conversation between the free people, _argued_ with Ven’s own master, and then pulled a gun out…

And it really really hadn’t helped anything when the Vestal, Mistress Claudia, had said that Ven was like him. At least Master had disagreed with her, too, knew that Ven wasn’t like that, that he tried to be good, obedient, submissive, unobtrusive...

He didn’t want to be like Valentine, he wanted to be his master’s good boy. So why was he left feeling like he wasn’t, despite what Master had said?

_...Ven is nothing like Valentine. He’s a good boy, obedient, knows his place..._

Did Ven really look like he was going to disobey an order, or worse, when he wasn’t actively controlling his expression or something? And Master _liked_ that?

 _Had_ Ven ever got into trouble for disobeying an order, or being impudent, or in any way being anything other than the slave his master wanted? He could only think of one time, that time he’d tried making his face up, to see whether his master would like the look on him or not. Master had, but he’d been reprimanded for… Well, he’d been thought to be impudent, although the intention hadn’t been there. He’d been careful since, and now… Had it really been fruitless to try? _"He’s a good boy, obedient…"_

What was it Chryseis had said? _"...You both have a spark about you. Some masters hate that but Master Varius seems to like it. I wouldn’t have thought that of him…"_

Ven wriggled a little deeper under the covers, pushing back carefully against the comforting solid warmth of his master, asleep behind him. He’d tried make-up without being told, he offered the use of his body without waiting to be commanded or simply being taken, he did suggest things sometimes. Always carefully, always expecting his master to say ‘no’. 

And then Valentine himself had said… What was it he’d said? _"Your master really wants both a completely obedient slave and a naughty boy he can bend to his will, and you are the nearest he will ever have."_

He was crying again, not the frustrated tears of earlier, but silent tears born of confusion or misery or… something he couldn’t name. He found himself reaching for his master’s arm, as he had reached for his leg earlier in the evening, pulling it tighter against himself, even as Master sighed into his hair in his sleep.

The wish to be a good boy was one of the very few aspirations slaves were encouraged to have, and right now, Ven didn’t care what it made him look like. He wanted to be his master’s good boy, to receive more of those compliments (which they were, although they’d been addressed to others, as if Ven wasn’t even present to hear them). If his master thought he was a good slave, it didn’t matter what anyone else said.

It had been a long, emotional day and Ven’s eyes drifted closed and his own breathing evened out and he slept, in his master’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
>  _Noctem postquam vespernam_ \- (Title) Night, after supper  
>  _taxa capra_ \- pedicab, cycleshaw  
>  _lictors_ \- ceremonial attendants who preceded a magistrate or other person with authority  
>  _fasces_ \- the bundle of rods bound around an axe (in Ancient Rome) or a rifle (in 2770auc) carried by the lictors and symbolising the power wielded by the person they attend  
>  _Praetorians_ \- the soldiers whose duty was to provide security for the Emperor (fulfilling a similar role to the British Guards regiments of our era)  
>  _pallium_ \- cloak or robe less formal than a toga but still only allowable to be worn by citizens  
>  _concubīnus_ \- male bed-slave  
>  _cinaedus_ \- catamite, bottom. I have also translated it 'fucktoy'  
>  _pathicus_ \- an adult male who takes the passive role. We might categorise this by the term submissive in modern English. The dominant person could be either male or female


End file.
